


Sugar, Watch Me (I'll Be Good)

by clotpolesonly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Brief Mention of Dom Drop, Dom Stiles Stilinski, Dom/sub, Endearments, Established Relationship, M/M, Panties, Praise Kink, Public Scene, Sub Jackson Whittemore, Sugar Daddy, Sugar Daddy Jackson, Top Jackson Whittemore, Topping from the Bottom, Versatile Jackson Whittemore, Versatile Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-05 04:00:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15855786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clotpolesonly/pseuds/clotpolesonly
Summary: “Wait, does he do this all the time?” Scott asked, sounding flabbergasted and, in Jackson’s opinion, suitably impressed. “What, is he your sugar daddy or something?”The way Stiles glanced at Jackson then probably looked coy to Scott. It probably looked coquettish, even deferential, like Jackson was the one with the power, but that impression couldn’t have been more misleading. That half-lidded gaze pinned Jackson to his seat and made him squirm, made him want to bare his neck, offer up everything he had, and beg for whatever Stiles wanted to give him in return.Stiles sipped at his drink—the drink Jackson had paid for—again and slowly, teasingly, licked the foam from his top lip.“You could say that,” he said, a hint of a laugh in his tone.Scottcouldsay that, but he wouldn’t be entirely right. Though, to be fair, he wouldn’t be entirely wrong either.





	Sugar, Watch Me (I'll Be Good)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whatthefridge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthefridge/gifts).



> my first smut of the year! only took me eight and a half months, lol. but hey, i helped engender this idea to start with, so when it popped up for pinch hit i couldn't let it pass me by! the dynamic was every bit as fun to work with as i expected it to be, and making sure Jackson both 1) knows he is loved, and 2) gets dicked down right, is always satisfying, lmao
> 
> fridge, i hope i did it justice XD

Jackson handed his credit card over to the barista with a familiar thrill, though he made sure it didn’t show on his face. The girl still had that plastered-on smile that said she thought he was crazy for ordering such a ridiculous and expensive drink, but it wasn’t for him anyway.

And besides, the expense was sort of the point.

Jackson took his card back, stepped aside, and glanced back at their table. Stiles was watching him. Of course Stiles was watching him. Jackson stood a little straighter and Stiles smiled at him approvingly before he turned back to whatever conversation he was having with Kira as they waited for Scott to arrive.

It took a while for the barista to call his order, but Jackson waited patiently. Any other day he might’ve snapped at the slow service or made some disparaging remark, but not today. That wasn’t the sort of behavior Stiles expected of him on outings like this.

So he waited patiently, even when he heard a quiet curse from behind the counter and knew it would be an extra few minutes. And when the venti pumpkin-mocha frappuccino with almond milk, extra shot, and extra caramel drizzle finally came out—along with his three other, much more run of the mill drinks—he gave the barista his most charming smile and asked her to throw in four pumpkin cream cheese muffins and a double chocolate chunk brownie for good measure.

She gave him an even more incredulous look but rang up his additions without comment.

Kira was at his side before he could try to carry everything back to the table himself. He almost insisted he could handle it but caught Stiles’ raised eyebrow from the corner of his eye; he was supposed to take care of himself, and sometimes that meant accepting help. It was in the rules. So he reluctantly passed off two of the drinks and three of the muffins to her, making sure to keep a hold of the frappuccino, the brownie, and a muffin so that he could place them in front of Stiles himself and get that small approving nod in return.

“Thanks, babe,” Stiles said casually, but the way he ran his hand down Jackson’s forearm to curl it around his wrist had just enough possessiveness to it to make his heart beat faster.

“You’re welcome,” Jackson said; good manners were expected today, and his were rewarded with another nod.

He waited until Stiles released him to sit down. The motion made the lace of his panties slide over his skin, too fine to scratch but still textured enough for him to feel it. His eyes fell to the light blue of Stiles’ shirt, remembering the way the panties had almost blended in perfectly when Stiles had held them up that morning.

“Matching outfits,” he’d said with a smirk. “That’s something couples do, right?”

“I think that usually only counts when people can _see_ that they’re matching,” Jackson had replied, but that hadn’t stopped him from sliding them on, and it certainly hadn’t stopped the panties from feeling like a mark of ownership, whether anyone else knew he was wearing them or not.

Now Stiles was sporting that smirk again. It never failed to get Jackson a little hot under the collar, and the feeling doubled when Stiles picked up the ridiculous drink Jackson had bought for him and brought it to his lips. The way his throat worked made Jackson want to straddle Stiles then and there in the middle of the coffee shop and _lick_ at the pale skin until Stiles ordered him to stop.

Luckily, the bell over the door jingled before Jackson could lose control of himself and do anything to make Stiles disappointed in him—or to scar poor, unsuspecting Kira for life. Scott plopped down in the only empty chair with a huff, but he brightened considerably when he saw the coffee and muffin waiting for him.

“Ooh, muffin!” he said, already peeling the wrapper off. “Who do I have to grovel to for this?”

“Jackson bought one for everybody,” Kira said through a mouthful of her own. “Isn’t that nice?”

 _Strangely nice,_ the confused look on Scott’s face said. But it wasn’t strange enough for him to comment on it out loud. He just said, “Oh. Thanks, man.”

Jackson didn’t need the nudge from Stiles under the table to say, “You’re welcome,” back. He was on his best behavior today, even if their friends didn’t know why.

Stiles said, “Actually, Jackson bought _all_ of this,” and the acknowledgment sent a flush of heat through Jackson. “He’s bankrolling this little pow-wow.”

Stiles waved a hand over their table and everything on it. The fluorescent lights glinted off the watch on his wrist that hadn’t ever been there before and Scott’s eyes went wide. He grabbed at Stiles’ arm, dragging it under his nose to get a closer look, which did nothing to dispel his shock.

“Dude!” he said, the syllable unreasonably drawn out. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s a watch, Scott,” Stiles answered drily, though he let his best friend examine to his heart’s content. “It tells time.”

This particular watch did a little more than that, but that wasn’t something Scott needed to know. It was more symbolic anyway, like the matching shirt and panties.

“It’s also got actual fucking diamonds in it!”

“Oh my god, seriously?” Kira demanded, shouldering Scott out of the way so she could peer at the watch too.

“Yup,” Stiles told them easily. “Twelve diamonds inlaid. The face is real mother of pearl too.”

“ _Oh my god,_ ” Kira said again. “How much did this cost?”

“Yeah, and how the hell did you afford it?” Scott added.

Stiles liberated his arm and shrugged, smirk firmly back in place. “About five hundred bucks,” he said, as if that wasn’t more than he made in a week. “Jackson bankrolled that too.”

Scott and Kira both looked at Jackson, gaping. Jackson made himself match Stiles’ smirk, doing his best to pull on the cloak of arrogance he knew he usually carried with him when what he really wanted to do was beg for Stiles to thank him again. He settled for pressing back where Stiles’ foot was resting against his out of view.

“You bought—” Scott started to say to Jackson but changed course halfway through, redirecting the question to Stiles in a whisper like he thought Jackson couldn’t hear it that way. “You let him buy you a five hundred dollar watch?”

Stiles sipped at his fancy drink again and popped a piece of brownie in his mouth. “Why not?” he asked archly. “I’ve got a rich boyfriend who loves spoiling me. Why shouldn’t I let him?”

“Wait, does he do this all the time?” Scott asked, sounding flabbergasted and, in Jackson’s opinion, suitably impressed. “What, is he your sugar daddy or something?”

The way Stiles glanced at Jackson then probably looked coy to Scott. It probably looked coquettish, even deferential, like Jackson was the one with the power, but that impression couldn’t have been more misleading. That half-lidded gaze pinned Jackson to his seat and made him squirm, made him want to bare his neck, offer up everything he had, and beg for whatever Stiles wanted to give him in return.

Stiles sipped at his drink—the drink Jackson had paid for—again and slowly, _teasingly,_ licked the foam from his top lip.

“You could say that,” he said, a hint of a laugh in his tone.

Scott _could_ say that, but he wouldn’t be entirely right. Though, to be fair, he wouldn’t be entirely wrong either. They might’ve fit the dictionary definition, even if they weren’t quite the stereotype. Jackson figured it wasn’t too surprising, considering they hadn’t started out this way. In fact, they had sort of stumbled into this particular arrangement accidentally.

It had only been power play at first, the domination and submission they had fallen into so naturally almost as soon as they had started dating. Jackson offered and Stiles took. Stiles pushed and Jackson yielded. Jackson begged and Stiles praised him for it. For months, it was enough—it was still more than enough, honestly, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t expand their horizons for that extra thrill.

Which was why when Stiles had brought up the idea of taking their power play public, Jackson had been intrigued. Wary, admittedly, but intrigued.

They agreed to keep it subtle for decency’s sake, nothing obvious enough to raise eyebrows or make passersby uncomfortable, but enough for them both to know: the lace hidden under Jackson’s clothes, matching Stiles’ shirt and marking him as owned; the rules laid down by Stiles, behavioral guidelines that Jackson either followed or was punished for breaking later; asking permission for things he wanted to do while they were out and accepting Stiles’ yes or no, because Stiles knew what was best for him.

It was a special secret that they shared, and the idea of flaunting that secret without anyone being the wiser had made Jackson come apart completely when Stiles had first whispered it in his ear.

The money thing had come later and sort of snuck in under the radar, at least for Jackson. It had hardly even registered when Stiles had instructed Jackson to order him a fancy coffee, just like the one he had in his hand now, and to pay for it himself instead of waiting for Stiles to give him his card like he usually did. It had just been another part of his submission, obeying his dom’s command, feeling that warm flush of pride as Stiles hummed his appreciation for the sugary drink.

It had made Jackson feel good to hand over what he’d bought, even more good than usual. He never would’ve questioned it if Stiles hadn’t dropped afterward, convinced that he was a bad dom because he’d brought a kink into the scene that they hadn’t negotiated beforehand. It had taken a lot of cuddles and reassurances to bring Stiles back up, make sure he knew that Jackson wasn’t hurt or upset, that he hadn’t _taken advantage_ of his sub, but they’d talked about it in depth after that.

So now it was a thing, just part of the way they interacted. There were rules, of course, like with everything else they did. Stiles had declared some things off limits for this play—his student debt, for example, was his and his alone—because it wasn’t actually about Stiles needing Jackson to support him. It was about how happy it made Jackson to _please_ Stiles.

A diamond-encrusted, mother of pearl watch made Stiles happy, and a happy Stiles took good care of Jackson.

Scott looked like he knew exactly what turn Jackson’s thoughts had taken, even if the details eluded him. He made a face and stuffed the rest of his muffin into his mouth. Stiles just laughed and changed the subject to the job interview Kira had lined up for next week.

Jackson stayed quiet, picking at his muffin, mostly focused on the sound of Stiles’ voice as he carried the conversation. Every once and a while he shifted in his seat to feel the lace move across his skin.

Stiles sent him a sidelong look. Then he broke off a piece of his brownie and slid it across the table.

Jackson felt his face flush as Stiles watched him eat it.

“Anyway,” Kira said just a tiny bit louder than was normal. “So, I should probably go...prepare. For the interview.”

“Yeah,” Scott put in, already scooting his chair back and avoiding looking at either one of them. “Interview prep. Good idea.”

“Okay,” Stiles said gamely. “Scott, I’ll see you tomorrow. Kira, best of luck.”

Stiles nudged Jackson’s foot. He said, “Yeah, good luck. You’ll do great,” and earned a smile for it.

Their friends didn’t quite flee the premises, but it was pretty close. As soon as they were out the door, Stiles was sniggering into his coffee. Jackson couldn’t help but join in; Stiles’ laugh was too contagious for its own good.

“Should we be bothered that they obviously know what we’re doing?” Jackson asked, finally taking a sip of his own, mostly ignored coffee.

“Oh, they _think_ they know,” Stiles said.

He leaned forward, a half-grin lingering on his face. He reached out to run his thumb over Jackson’s top lip, gathering the foam that had collected there, and then brought it back to his own mouth to lick clean. Jackson bit back a desperate noise as his cock twitched in his jeans and Stiles’ grin became something much more smug.

“Trust me,” he said, his voice a low rumble in his chest like it only ever was for Jackson. “They don’t have _any_ idea what I’m going to do to you when we get home.”

Jackson nearly grabbed Stiles right then and made a run for the car, but that would’ve been against the rules. Instead he let his eyes fall to the shiny watch on Stiles’ wrist: a silent request, since showing impatience wouldn’t be polite. It was Stiles’ decision when they got here and when they left, not his.

Stiles saw his questioning glance. And he ignored it, relaxing back into his seat and picking up his as yet untouched muffin. Jackson dug his fingers into his knees, took a deep breath to calm and center himself, and settled in to wait until Stiles deemed their outing finished.

Stiles—always perceptive to his sub’s needs—didn’t make him wait too long. It was only ten minutes or so before Stiles was throwing down his empty muffin wrapper and stretching his arms up over his head with a yawn. His shirt rode up to torture Jackson with a glimpse of his treasure trail which, judging by the way he luxuriated in the stretch far longer than usual, was exactly the point.

Jackson didn’t stand until Stiles indicated that he should, and he fell in line a step behind Stiles as they made their way out of the coffee shop to the porsche. Jackson drove with Stiles’ hand high on his thigh, as much a reassurance as it was a tease. He did not speed, no matter how much he wanted to; that was against the rules and there would be no point in getting home faster if he wasn’t going to get rewarded when he got there.

This close to getting what he wanted, he just had to make sure he did everything he was supposed to do.

He parked carefully in front of their building. He waited for Stiles to take the lead up the stairs, hand hot on his lower back the whole way. He kicked off his shoes just inside the door and hung up his jacket on the peg. He went straight to their bedroom. He stripped off his shirt and jeans, folded them neatly, and placed them on the bedside table. He knelt at the side of the bed, hands gripping his forearms behind his back.

He waited.

In the still and the quiet, he couldn’t be sure how long it was. He let his thoughts be subsumed by the steadiness of his breathing and his heartbeat, the mild discomfort of his bare knees on the carpet, the distant noises of Stiles moving around outside the bedroom. The shower ran for a while, pipes rattling.

Jackson closed his eyes and breathed.

The fingers in his hair surprised him. It was just a soft brush, quick, as Stiles passed by him, but Jackson had to fight not to chase after it.

Stiles was still damp from his shower, bare chest shiny and hair a spiky mess. As Jackson watched, a few droplets chased their way from his nape, down the long curve of his back, to soak into the low-slung waistband of his sweatpants. Stiles had the watch in one hand, thumb rubbing across the face as he found its case with the other. He didn’t look Jackson’s way until the watch was safely put away in their top dresser drawer.

Jackson lowered his eyes to the floor before Stiles could catch him looking. Not that he wasn’t allowed to look, it just didn’t feel right yet. Besides, there was a special sort of anticipation that came with hearing but not seeing.

Light footsteps on the carpet and then Stiles’ fingers were in his hair again, carding through it more thoroughly this time.

“Hey, baby,” Stiles said. “How are we feeling?”

Jackson didn’t have to think about it, but he did, because he knew that when Stiles asked that question, he wanted a real answer. “Good.”

Stiles shuffled closer, bare toes nudging up against Jackson’s knee, and his hand slid from Jackson’s hair down to his neck, the warm width of his palm a solid anchor on his nape.

“You feel good?” he asked. “You should. You did well, sweetheart.”

Those words sent a tingle all the way down Jackson’s spine. He let his eyes slip closed again and leaned back into Stiles’ touch. Stiles’ thumb swept back and forth along his hairline, gentle and soothing.

“Can you tell me how much you spent today?” Stiles asked, like he always did.

“Thirty-eight ninety-five,” Jackson said.

It wasn’t much in the grand scheme of things, nothing like the grand Jackson had dropped to get the Jeep beautified a few weeks ago or the VIP Comic-Con tickets last year or the five hundred dollar watch in the drawer, but that wasn’t what mattered. What mattered was that Stiles pressed a kiss to his forehead and said, “You take such good care of me, baby. Always make sure I have everything I need.”

“Yes,” Jackson breathed. “Always.”

“And you were so sweet today too,” Stiles went on. He brought his hand around to cup Jackson’s jaw, thumb coming to rest on the swell of his bottom lip. “Such a polite customer. So supportive with Kira. So patient at the shop. You followed all my rules to the letter like the good boy you are.”

Jackson’s lips parted around Stiles’ thumb, letting it dip inside to press against his tongue. It still had a hint of cinnamon flavor to it, even after his shower.

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

It took a few seconds to pry his eyes open, but it was worth it for the way Stiles was looking down at him, the intensity behind his gaze that said Jackson was the only thing in his world that mattered. That look always made him lightheaded, had since the first time Stiles had looked at him that way and he’d known he was _gone._

Stiles smiled at him and that didn’t help the feeling. “There’s my boy.” He pulled his thumb free, much to Jackson’s disappointment, and said, “My sweet, perfect boy. You did so well today, I want to give you a treat—” His hand fell to the bulge in his sweatpants, palming himself so the outline of his erection was clear. “—make sure you know how good you make me feel. Color?”

“Green,” Jackson said, immediately and without hesitation. His mouth was already watering. “Please.”

Stiles leaned in to whisper, “Good boy,” against Jackson’s lips, swallowing Jackson’s whimper in a thorough kiss. Jackson only didn’t protest the kiss’s end because he knew what was coming. He tightened his hold on his own forearms as Stiles leaned back enough to tug his sweatpants down around his thighs.

Stiles’ cock was a thing of beauty, at least in Jackson’s opinion, flushed red and just the right size to satisfy but not overwhelm. Jackson’s mouth was already hanging open, eager and ready as Stiles gave himself a few leisurely strokes.

“Alright, baby,” Stiles said finally. “Come here, let me give you what you need.”

Jackson let himself be pulled forward, let Stiles’ cock slide past his lips to settle warm and heavy over his tongue. The weight of Stiles’ hand on the back of his head was reassuring, and Stiles didn’t push yet. He just allowed Jackson to sink down on him at his own pace until he couldn’t take in anymore.

Some days Jackson felt like he could stay on his knees for Stiles, just like this, for the rest of his life and be happy. Here he didn’t have to worry about anything because Stiles was there, surrounding him, _filling_ him, and he could never be anything but safe.

Sure enough, just when his jaw was starting to ache, Stiles curled his fingers into Jackson’s hair and tugged. Jackson slid off, a string of saliva stretching out from his bottom lip. He held still as Stiles took hold of himself, traced the head of his cock over Jackson’s wet mouth with a hum of approval. Then, at Stiles’ urging, Jackson swallowed him down again.

This time Stiles used the grip on his hair to set the pace, a gentle insistence that kept Jackson pushing forward until the head nudged at the back of his throat and pulling back to suck on just the tip and back down again. The rhythm of it lulled Jackson as much as his own heartbeat had earlier, almost meditative in its single-mindedness.

Above him, Stiles kept up a stream of encouragement, just soft murmurs that burrowed under Jackson’s skin and took up residence there, glowing like live coals. _Feels so good,_ he said, and _look so pretty like this,_ and _my perfect boy and his perfect mouth._ Every word had Jackson’s dick twitching in his panties, precum dampening the lace, but that wasn’t his responsibility. All he needed to think about was the dick in his mouth and the words in his ears.

Jackson almost protested when Stiles dragged him back, away from his prize, but he bit his lip to stop himself. It was swollen and tender and throbbed under the pressure of his teeth.

Stiles chuckled and used his thumb to pull it free. “Don’t look like that, sweetheart, we’re not done yet. Get up on the bed, on all fours.”

Jackson scrambled to obey, legs stiff and clumsy from kneeling so long. He settled in the middle of the bed, weight on his elbows, knees spread wide, presenting himself for whatever Stiles wanted to do with him. He heard a drawer slide open, the rustle of Stiles rummaging through it, the snap of it closing. The bed dipped beside him.

Stiles’ lips laid a warm, wet track across his shoulder blades and down his spine, a trail of kisses leading inexorably to his prize. Even through the lace, Stiles’ hands were hot as he palmed the globes of Jackson’s ass and squeezed.

“Just knowing that you had these on,” Stiles murmured. “That no one had any idea but me. Watching you fight not to squirm.” He laid a kiss right above Jackson’s tailbone, nose pressing into his cleft. “ _Beautiful._ ”

Jackson bit his forearm to muffle the needy sound that found its way out of him. He bit down harder when Stiles hooked his fingers into the delicate material and tugged it down over the swell of his ass, leaving the front of the panties bunched up tight around his cock. The drip of cold lube made him jump but he still didn’t make a sound.

“Such a good boy, staying quiet for me. I didn’t even have to ask this time,” Stiles said, rubbing the slick down to circle around his rim. “Push that ass out, let me see it.”

Jackson arched his back obediently, widened his stance as much as he could to give Stiles the best access possible. Stiles rewarded him with the press of a slick fingertip against his hole, massaging the tight muscle until it gave way.

Jackson let himself relax into the familiar sensation of being opened up, the fullness of Stiles’ long fingers working inside him, pushing and sliding and tugging. Occasionally Stiles would drop another kiss on one cheek or the other, pressing endearments into his skin that made Jackson hide a smile in the crook of his arm even as he fought against the moans building insistently in his throat.

His cock pressed against its confines, the lace too tight to be comfortable but not restrictive enough to really hurt. Every time Stiles’ fingers glanced across Jackson’s prostate, the twitch of his hips let the bulge brush across the bedspread for just a second, the sudden contact sending sparks of pleasure through his whole body to leave him gasping. It was never enough to be anything more than a tease, but that was okay as long as Stiles fucked him soon.

When Stiles’ fingers ease out, Jackson was expecting them to be replaced by the blunt press of his cock instead. But what pressed inside him was cool and hard and smooth. Jackson started to twist around to see, but Stiles gently pushed him back down with a hand between his shoulder blades.

“Shh, baby, don’t worry,” he said. “It’s just your favorite plug.”

“You’re not gonna fuck me?” Jackson asked. He tried not to sound as disappointed as he was; after all, it was up to Stiles what they did and he trusted Stiles to make it good for both of them. It _was_ his favorite plug settling snugly inside him, filling him up just right to bump up against his prostate, but he wore this all the time. He was supposed to be getting a reward for being so good.

His thoughts must’ve shown on his face or in his posture because Stiles made a soft noise and leaned over his back, blanketing him completely, to kiss along his neck.

“Special treat, remember?” he said, lips brushing along the shell of Jackson’s ear. “Thought we’d switch things up a bit.”

That caught Jackson’s attention. “You mean…?”

Stiles turned Jackson’s head to kiss him, long and slow. He stayed in close, breath hot against Jackson’s cheek as he said, “I haven’t had _you_ fuck _me_ in a while. But I think you earned it today. Do you?”

“Yes,” Jackson whispered, clenching down on the plug in his ass as he remembered the last time he had been allowed to fuck Stiles. “Yes, please, I was good today. You said I was good.”

“So good,” Stiles assured him. “Oh sweetheart, you were the best.”

Jackson whimpered.

“You’re gonna keep being good for me, right, baby?” Stiles asked. He ran his hands down Jackson’s sides, over his stomach, lower, until he could scratch his fingernails through the light dusting of hair above his groin, tantalizingly close to his trapped cock. “You gonna fuck me just the way I like? Fill me up?”

“Yes,” Jackson said. “Stiles, _please._ ”

“Tell me what you want, babe,” Stiles crooned. “Do you want to fuck me into the mattress? Or do you want me to ride you?”

Jackson’s cock _throbbed._ “Ride me, oh god, please ride me.”

Stiles’ weight lifted off of his back, leaving him cold and un-tethered, but he wasn’t adrift for long. Firm hands pushed Jackson over onto his back, arranging him just right, finally— _finally_ —freeing his cock and pulling the precum-soaked panties down his legs. Stiles tossed them aside, though not without a wistful look.

Then he was straddling Jackson, settling down with Jackson’s bent knees at his back and his hands on Jackson’s chest. In this position, he was so tall and lean, imposing in how he loomed over Jackson, but there was nothing intimidating about it. His eyes were dark and warm, his light skin sheened with sweat, and there was a half-smile on his face as he looked down at Jackson laid out beneath him. Jackson could only preen under that gaze, secure in the knowledge that Stiles was pleased with what he saw.

“Oh yeah, it’s been way too long,” Stiles said, thumbing at Jackson’s nipples until they pebbled. “Maybe if you keep being such a good boy, I’ll let you fuck me more often.”

“I can,” Jackson said, hands gripping at the bedsheets because he hadn’t been given permission to touch Stiles back yet. “I _will,_ I promise.”

“I know you will, sweetheart.” Stiles snatched the bottle of lube up from where he’d dropped it earlier and held it out, giving it a teasing shake. “Now get yourself ready.”

Jackson took the bottle and wetted his fingers, reaching around Stiles to get to his cock. He kept his eyes on Stiles as he prepared himself, focusing on the anticipation on Stiles’ face to stave off the pleasure of touching himself; he couldn’t come yet, not until he had given Stiles what he wanted.

Still, Jackson almost lost it when Stiles’ hand joined his. Stiles pulled his hand away, leading it to his thigh instead, and Jackson gripped it tight now that he was allowed. He gritted his teeth as Stiles lifted himself up and got Jackson’s cock into position. He must have prepped himself thoroughly in the shower because there was only a hint of resistance.

The feeling of sinking into Stiles’ tight heat was _incredible._ Jackson pressed his head back into the pillow, throat bared as Stiles sank down inch by tortuously slow inch. By the time Stiles was fully seated, Jackson was panting and already so close to losing control. Thankfully, Stiles didn’t move yet, just ground his hips in little circles.

“Fuck yeah,” he sighed. “That’s real nice, baby. Love your cock.”

Stiles’ own cock jutted out in front of him, swaying with every motion. Jackson reached for it but Stiles caught his hands and placed them firmly back on his thighs.

“Not yet,” he said. “That’s for later. This is just about you, baby. Gonna make you come so hard, make you feel so good. You deserve it.”

Jackson couldn’t help but join in Stiles’ rhythm, pushing up against his downward thrusts. The motion jostled the plug buried inside him. Every jerk of his hips, every time his cock was gripped by the tight clench of Stiles’ ass, was accompanied by a grind of that plug against his prostate. It was almost too much stimulation but it felt so goddamn good at the same time, blotting out his thoughts with a litany of _yes_ and _please_ and _Stiles_ that fell from his mouth without any conscious thought.

Stiles rode on relentlessly. His muscled thighs flexed under Jackson’s hands, slippery with sweat and shaking from exertion, but he didn’t stop and he didn’t slow down. He just leaned forward to brace himself on the bed, in close so he could nip at Jackson’s ear.

“Feels so fucking perfect,” he said. “Love having you in me. _Fuck,_ Jackson.”

The sound of his name on Stiles’ lips always did something to him. He turned his head with a whimper, desperate for a kiss, and Stiles gave it to him. It was more of an open-mouthed sharing of breath, really, but it was what Jackson needed. Stiles always knew what he needed.

“Are you getting close?” Stiles whispered against his slack lips.

Jackson couldn’t martial his thoughts enough to respond coherently. He could only moan as Stiles tightened around him, working him over just right. He managed a nod.

Stiles snagged Jackson’s bottom lip with his teeth and tugged. “Gonna come inside me?” he asked. “Gonna be a good boy and give me all that come? You know I want it. And you always give me what I want, don’t you? You take such good care of me.”

Jackson was probably leaving bruises on Stiles’ hips, but Stiles didn’t seemed to mind. God, he was so close. Between his cock in Stiles’ ass, the plug in his own, and the praise Stiles lavished on him, Jackson was drowning in sensation and _so close_ to the edge.

All it took was a rough command of, “ _Do it for me, sweetheart,_ ” and Jackson was flying. He held onto Stiles with all his strength, shaking through an orgasm that left him gasping and limp. He was barely conscious of Stiles talking him through it, kissing his neck, milking every last drop from him.

Stiles hands on his face brought him back around. “Come on, baby, open up,” he was saying. “One last treat for you.”

Jackson opened his mouth, blinking blearily up at Stiles’ cock just above him, at Stiles’ hand moving fast as he jerked himself off. It only took a minute for Stiles to groan and shoot. Wet heat splattered across Jackson’s chin and lips, and he chased after it with his tongue. Stiles helpfully gathered some with his thumb and pushed it into Jackson’s mouth, letting Jackson suck the taste of him off with a low rumble in his chest.

“That’s my boy,” he said, breathless and proud.

Jackson floated in the buzz of his aftermath while Stiles gently worked the plug out of him. The emptiness was a pleasant ache that made Jackson want to beg Stiles to fuck him, to fill him up in return right now, except he was pretty sure he couldn’t actually move his limbs. That would have to wait until later.

The wash cloth Stiles used to clean him up was warm, and then Stiles was brushing the damp hair off Jackson’s forehead and saying, “Hey, honey. How are you feeling?”

Jackson tried to think about it—not the easiest task when his entire body was still thrumming and his head was empty and quiet. He came out with an affirmative hum that made Stiles raise an expectant eyebrow at him. “Good,” he amended. “Great.”

Stiles stretched out alongside Jackson, propped up on one elbow, and kept petting his hair. “Mission accomplished then,” he said. “Seems like we both did our jobs right today.”

Jackson intended to reply but got caught up in a yawn instead, and Stiles chuckled.

“All worn out,” he said. “Maybe we should have a day in tomorrow. Lounge around, watch movies, maybe have some lazy sex on the couch.”

That prospect was the most appealing thing Jackson could think of, but: “I thought you were meeting up with Scott tomorrow?”

A lazy, infinitely smug grin spread across Stiles’ face. “I don’t think Scott will ask questions if I cancel. Pretty sure he doesn’t want to know the answers.”

Jackson grinned too, remembering the muted horror on Scott’s face earlier, Kira’s hasty retreat. It probably shouldn’t have been as funny as it was, but they were on a post-coital high so he figured they could be forgiven.

With a monumental effort, he managed to roll himself over. Stiles cooperatively settled onto his back to let Jackson drape over him, arms settling comfortably around Jackson’s waist.

“Think their heads will explode if I buy you that motorcycle you were eyeing last month?” Jackson asked idly.

Stiles snorted into his hair. “You mean, that three grand, cherry red chopper with the built in stereo system?” he asked. “Definitely. For any number of reasons.”

“Probably shouldn’t then,” Jackson sighed, already grieving for his dream of Stiles in a leather jacket, bending him over that bike and fucking him until he cried.

“Oh, no, you totally should,” Stiles said. “I want to ride that thing all over town. You’ll ride on the back, of course, so I can show you both off at the same time, make sure everyone knows how well you provide for me. How does that sound?”

 _Perfect,_ Jackson thought. He lifted himself up to steal a kiss and Stiles let him, content to keep it sweet and simple now. Stiles’ smile was sweet too, despite the mischief in his words, and Jackson couldn’t believe how much he loved him.

“Sounds like we should let a few heads explode.”


End file.
